


Speak Daggers But Use None

by ComeAlongPond14



Series: teen!Lock verse [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Boyfriends, Facials, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Oral Sex, teen!lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 13:22:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1120320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComeAlongPond14/pseuds/ComeAlongPond14
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teenage John and Sherlock further explore their unfurling relationship and dynamic.</p><p>Title is from a verse in Shakespeare's "Hamlet."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Speak Daggers But Use None

**Author's Note:**

> …I'm so sorry guys. This was supposed to be my vacation of non-stop writing. And then I remembered that life happens. Fiance visited, then his family, then engagement party and bridal shower and people and then I had a cold.
> 
> BUT HEY I wrote a thing! So hopefully you all enjoy this little PWP from the teen!Lock verse. Side note, I could not even think clearly, so I didn't really edit this well. I will do so next time I read over it. If you see glaring errors that piss you off, comment and they shall be fixed! <3

"John."

The blonde teen woke with a shiver, startled by the sensation of warm breath ghosting over his lips. He struggled to orient himself in the darkness.

"John." Again that soft voice, low and resonating and touching something deep within him. John blinked his eyes open slowly, trying to remember where he was.

"John, I need you again."

That woke him up properly--or at least, the hand slipping inside his trousers in accompaniment to the words certainly did. He groaned softly as he came to attention, remembering that he had fallen asleep watching a documentary on Sherlock's bed.

As for his roommate, the dark haired boy had clearly tolerated John's need to sleep quite long enough. To be fair, it was because of him that John was tired out all the time.

"Please, John?"

Right, then, the handsy boyfriend was in need again.

"'M awake," he mumbled, his fingers finding their way into his roommate's curls. The answering hum of appreciation was as beautiful as the boy's voice, but John definitely had a preference.

"Talk to me, luv," he whispered, still thrilled that he could ask for that.

Sherlock's voice was smoky with arousal and amusement. "Talk to you, John? Not tired of my voice yet?" Long, pale hands smoothed across John's t shirt, and the body curled over his stretched out, cat-like, to allow the taller boy access to his throat. John whimpered as the skin over his jugular was teased mercilessly.

"Never," he returned, tugging Sherlock into a heated kiss. "God, I love hearing you."

It had only been a handful of weeks since the glasz eyed teen had begun to speak, for the first time in over three years. They'd had to deal with the outsider reactions, of course--Sherlock's fairly intimidating older brother, and his surprisingly sweet mother, had arrived to speak to Sherlock--and then to thank John firmly. He'd been bewildered by that, to say the least.

Among their peers and classmates, the reactions were a range of awe, congratulations, and bawdy comments about John’s methods of influence. Their teachers were stunned. But no one was going to protest, not when they heard that voice.

Sherlock, for his part, seemed to flourish.

In particular, he had become unexpectedly and exceptionally hungry for physical attention, with his attention fixated specifically on his roommate.

If John weren’t a red-blooded teenage male with a fiery libido of his own, he would likely have been overwhelmed before their first weekend together was over, by how much Sherlock suddenly craved being touched. The sex was spontaneous, often unexpected and vaguely exhibitionist, and if he weren’t falling rapidly and insanely in love with his headstrong roommate, John might have been slightly disconcerted by it.

But at the same time, he could see beyond the raw want, and he loved what he saw in Sherlock’s eyes at moments like this.

Sherlock’s tongue explored his mouth desperately, utterly needy and untamed in a way that the lanky teen never was in the light of day (not that they hadn’t gotten it on in broad daylight several times already...)

Moments like this, John was the one struck mute by the pure intensity of all that was surging between them. Sherlock’s free hand--the one not still resolutely thrust into John’s pants--wandered over his chest, tugging impatiently at the buttons of the Oxford uniform shirt he hadn’t bothered removing before they’d sat down to their film.

“I’ve got it, luv, I’ll get it,” John panted, trying to keep his wits about him, fumbling to undo his shirt despite the smooth, assured strokes of the hand on his prick. Sherlock let him raise them both up just long enough to tug his arms free, and then he was pushing John back down onto the mattress, throwing the shirt aside. John surrendered with a groan, his head arching back and his fingers twisting back into the ebony curls as Sherlock kissed his way down his bare skin.

“I do like speaking to you, though, John,” he murmured, and the sound of his voice--lowered to its absolute best fuck-me octave--mixed with the sensation of his breath on John’s skin, hot and heavy, made the smaller boy writhe with need.

“Sher--oh, Christ!” he whimpered, his hips wriggling in a rather undignified manner as Sherlock dragged his tongue further down, swirling around his navel, dipping in slightly. “Thought--thought you were looking to be--taken, when you--woke me--”

Those swirling glasz eyes, seeing and knowing absolutely every thought and feeling in John’s head, sliced up to pierce right through his skull. Sherlock looked positively sinful, poised over his boyfriend’s straining, clothed cock, tongue protruding slightly as he considered. A smirk curled his lips up wickedly.

“Do you want that, too, John?” He laughed as his panting breath over the other boy’s erection made him squirm. “If I asked, if I begged, would you...” Leaning forward, dropping his face down so that his lips hovered teasingly over John’s--“Would you claim me, John? Do you know how much I crave it? How much I want...no...how much I need to belong to you? It clears the fog, John, it makes everything make sense again. Nothing helped, nothing alleviated the pressure I carried with me for years...and then there was you, and God, I do need you. Often, too much, I know, but it is...everything to me, this power you seem to hold.” His fingers intertwined with John’s over the sheets, and he dipped down to kiss him very lightly.

Then his lips slid sideways, brushing John’s ear as he whispered hoarsely. “Would you take me, please, John? Lay me open, fuck me again, show me that you see all that I am...and still want me?”

For a single breath, they were motionless, John simply savoring the raw unfiltered need in his demented, beautiful lover’s mind.

Then his grip tightened, hearing Sherlock’s breath catch as he flung all of his weight upward, twisting the taller boy onto his back and rolling over him to hold him down. Stretched out over him, their legs tangling together, thighs and ankles rubbing sensuously--but not their cocks, no, he wasn’t giving Sherlock that pleasure just yet, he raised his hips fractionally, laughing softly as Sherlock mumbled in protest and thrust to rut up against him--

“I’m in charge, love, and you know damn well that I’ll take good care of you,” he whispered, watching in delight as Sherlock relaxed instantly, his body going limp, his pupils dilating, his face slackening. Sherlock was a beautiful, complicated boy, with such brilliance and confidence and power; he could quiet a room by sweeping in silently, and he captured the awe and respect of his peers and superiors alike.

And yet, he was only truly at peace here, when he was laid out beneath the one person he had chosen to trust with himself, the one person who had helped him find the strength to speak again.

John’s lips grazed the pale column of his throat delicately, not giving too much stimulation. “What do you need from me right now, love?”

A shudder ran through the entire length of Sherlock’s body. His eyes met John’s full of need and love and, God, submission. How he had gained this mad beauty’s submission was beyond John, but he had never treasured anything more.

Sherlock’s eyes were unfocused and wild with pleasure. “Just you, John, I need...I need you. Like...like the first night.”

Lust unfurled through John in teasing, sparking tendrils as he let his mind drift back, to that amazing first evening. To Sherlock’s wide eyes and grasping hands, the way he let John guide and direct his movements so willingly, the way his body opened up eagerly to admit the blonde teen. The way he had thrown his head back and gasped out in pleasure as he climaxed under John’s dominating hands.

John licked his lips slowly, contemplating that request. “You sure? You want me to take the lead?”

Sherlock nodded, then checked himself, taking a quick breath the way he always did when he had a new thought. John raised a brow. “What, love? Just ask, you know I want to give you what you need.”

The dark-haired boy shivered again, trying to press his hips up to John’s, and laughing in admission of defeat as John rebuffed him, pressing his muscular thigh between the other’s legs in reprimand. “Tell me, love,” he whispered, his tone commanding.

That certainly worked. Eyes rolling back slightly, Sherlock writhed and panted out, “I--you--you were gentle, that night.”

John blinked, a little startled by the--was that disappointment?--in his lover’s tone. “You didn’t want me to be?”

Sherlock blushed, and it was possibly the most charming thing John had ever seen. “I--then, yes. That night...I needed it, of course I did. But--I mean....it would be...good...if you wanted....to be more...rough, with me.”

The idea worked its way through John’s mind very slowly, filling his thoughts until he was buzzing with the possibilities. He ran his tongue thoughtfully over his bottom lip, half-smiling at the way Sherlock’s eyes tracked the motion hungrily. He took a deep breath, afraid of ruining the atmosphere.

“Sherlock...I just need to know if--are you asking because you, well--because of what--”

For a single heartbeat John saw the flicker of memory, the ghost of Sherlock’s silencing trauma lingering in his beautiful pale eyes. The recollection of the rapist who had held him at knifepoint, and taken his confidence away, leaving him haunted for years. Despite John’s urging, Sherlock still hadn’t told anyone else what had happened to him.

The dark-haired boy arched up, his lips grazing the line of John’s throat. “No,” he murmured. “He’s not the reason. I mean...not the main one.” Their eyes met, and Sherlock’s were dark and filled with need, potent and savage. “It’s just...you see me, John, you see and understand the way that I need you. And...and I don’t want you to hold yourself back.” Those long, skillful fingers flexed needfully against John’s skin. “I need you to let go with me. For me.”

John tightened his grip on his boyfriend’s body, nosing against the vulnerable skin of Sherlock’s throat with longing. “If you’re certain,” he murmured. “Then all I need is your safeword.”

Sherlock was shivering under his touch, his entire body quivering and jerking in short, sporadic jolts of anticipation. “Traditional...should do...don’t you...think?” he managed to pant.

John smiled, running his tongue over the skin stretched taut over Sherlock’s beautifully pronounced collar bones. “Say them for me, luv.”

Sherlock’s voice was getting fainter from arousal. “Yellow for slow down. Red for stop.”

With one hand John pressed down tenderly over his lover’s throat, while the other slid slowly beneath the button and fly of Sherlock’s trousers, pleased to find him bare underneath. He hummed approval at the feeling of his boyfriend’s already hard and leaking cock. “And for ‘go?’” he asked softly, teasingly.

Sherlock sounded positively wrecked. “Green,” he gasped, and John took it at face value.

He sat up, still straddling the lanky boy, and made short work of his shirt buttons, and then pressed his lover firmly down onto the mattress. “I’m not tying you down, this time, Sherlock,” he said conversationally, and he grinned as Sherlock’s eyes widened in excitement. “You’re just going to have to obey me, understand?” When Sherlock nodded wordlessly, John shook his head, chuckling. “Not enough, luv, you know how much I love your voice, now that I can have it. You have to answer me, out loud.”

The dark-haired boy went still, his gaze searing into John’s with need and love and desperation, eager to exchange his voice for John’s touch. “Yes, John, I understand,” he murmured, and the devotion in his voice nearly overwhelmed even John’s natural inclination for dominance.

His hands closed tenderly around Sherlock’s wrists, sliding them up to rest against the pillow on either side of his head. “Keep them there for me, luv,” he murmured, waiting for Sherlock’s sweetly whispered, “Yes, John,” before he let go. His hands roamed slowly downward, seeking out every sensitive point on Sherlock’s body and making full use of them.

The teasing went on almost relentlessly, working Sherlock toward the edge without a single touch to his impressive erection--and the absence of contact with that point of anatomy, more so even than the slow and sensual slide of John’s hands, had Sherlock writhing and whimpering John’s name.

John smiled proudly down at his boyfriend, loving the trust Sherlock was willing to invest in him. With gentle hands, he cupped the taller boy’s calves, lifting them carefully. Recognizing the direction John was taking things, Sherlock obediently raised his legs, planting the soles of his feet on the firm muscle of John’s upper thighs. John took it all in, the tantalizing sight of Sherlock spread open and wanting him, and he let out a long breath.

“Sherlock,” he whispered, smiling faintly when the beautiful glasz eyes flickered up to meet his. “Will you talk to me? As I touch you? I want to hear your voice.”

A shudder ran through the length of Sherlock’s body, and a smile curved up the corners of his cupid’s bow lips. “Of course, John. Just...please don’t stop.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, luv,” John chuckled. Reaching up, he drew the zipper of Sherlock’s trousers completely down, and set to work easing the expensive fabric down his legs. His pants followed, tossed to the floor and forgotten. Leaning down over his lover, John let his gaze roam hungrily over the expanse of pale skin before him, from the long bare legs to his exposed torso, to his hands, still framing his face. He let out the breath he was holding, washing the flesh of Sherlock’s stomach ripple at the rush of hot air.

“John,” Sherlock’s voice was low and breathless, musical in its melancholy and hope. “John, it feels...it’s so warm, I feel safe, knowing you’re here, you have me.”

“I do,” John agreed, brushing kisses over the faintly-defined ridges of Sherlock’s abdomen. “I’ve got you, Sherlock. And I will make you feel...so good, I promise.”

Laughter trickled in among Sherlock’s words, happy and blissful. “I believe it.” His fingers twisted in the pillowcase, clenching and releasing in response to the kisses John was scattering across his pale belly. Shivers rolled through him. “John, let me touch you. Please.”

His lover smiled, running his hands up to tease playfully at Sherlock’s sensitive nipples, eliciting happy whimpers from the dark-haired boy. “Not just yet, luv. Not just yet.” He moved lower, one hand circling Sherlock’s cock and stroking gently up and down the shaft, grinning as his boyfriend arched into his touch. Intermittent whimpers of John’s name, and pleas to touch him, made John hum with contentment as he bent to take his lover in his mouth. He relaxed his throat as he sank down, taking his lover all the way down.

“ _Oh, God--John_!” Sherlock’s voice was low and soft, his cry of pleasure guiding John’s actions. He increased his pace, working his lover to orgasm using everything that he knew Sherlock liked best. Every sound Sherlock made was beautiful to him; if his feelings for the other boy hadn’t been enough, hearing those words certainly would have inspired him to give it his best.

When Sherlock climaxed, his hips jerking up against John weakly, he cried out his name one last time before he lapsed into soft panting. John grinned up at him, wiping his mouth off before pushing himself forward to kiss Sherlock hungrily. The blissed-out boy pushed his tongue eagerly into John’s mouth, seeking out his own flavor with a need bordering on desperation. John chuckled against his lips. “You can touch now, luv.”

Sherlock emitted a soft groan of gratitude and pleasure, his hands dropping to clasp John’s head, holding him secure for a longer kiss. Then he felt John’s still-prominent arousal against his belly, and he drew back with a smile. “Is that for me, then?”

John snorted, dropping his weight to pin Sherlock to the bed, rutting against him almost playfully. Despite having come already, Sherlock responded enthusiastically, spreading his thighs to meet John’s rocking hips, growling approval in his ear as John unintentionally smeared pre-cum across the translucent skin of his stomach.

“Don’t think I can wait for you to prepare me, John,” Sherlock panted in his ear, and the blonde teen groaned animalistically at those words, that voice, so wanton and broken--for him, all his. “Can I bring you off, please? With--with my hand, or my mouth?”

John shuddered, full-body, having to force his hips still against his lover’s for a moment to resist coming too soon. He turned his face, pressing his lips to the taller boy’s throat and nipping lightly. “Should have known you’d manage to take charge on something,” he murmured affectionately. “Christ, yes, Sherlock, can’t bloody say no to that, can I? What do you want?”

Sherlock’s mouth trailed along John’s jaw, up to his ear, and he sucked lightly at the lobe before he spoke hotly into the shell. “Would you let me suck you, John? And then when you’re close, push me off, and come on my face?”

John’s hips gave another funny little aborted jolt, and a whimper of pure want slipped from him at the mental image. “Uh--God, yes. Sherlock, yes. Sounds--sounds good.”

His boyfriend shot him a saucy smirk as he eased down the bed, nudging his thighs apart and slipping between them. “You’re so coherent like this, John. I enjoy the effect I have on you, immensely.”

John rolled his eyes, letting his legs close just enough to make Sherlock huff in mock annoyance. “You’re not particularly loquacious yourself when I’ve got your cock in my mouth, you twat.”

Beneath him, Sherlock laughed again softly. “Oh, do say ‘loquacious’ again, John.” His boyfriend might have responded, but any retort he had was lost when Sherlock abruptly wrapped his lips around his prick, taking him all the way down in one swallow. The sound that did emerge from him was rather higher pitched than he cared to admit, and he found himself thrusting reflexively into Sherlock’s receptive mouth. It wasn’t long before he was tangling his fingers into Sherlock’s dark curls, grunting a warning as he tried to slow the movement of his own hips. “Sher--I’m close, luv, I’m getting too close.”

Sherlock slid free with an obscene pop, making John gasp as the lanky boy wriggled back, leaving John straddling his waist. Those beautiful violinist’s fingers curled around John, pumping him slowly as Sherlock tilted his head, looking up at him from beneath his lashes. “Was my suggestion a good one, John? Or would you rather I finish you with my mouth, after all?”

John groaned, seizing Sherlock’s hair with one hand and tugging his head back to bare his throat. Sherlock’s eyes fluttered shut and his mouth fell open, his tongue flashing wetly as he licked his lips hopefully. Gazing in awe at this beautiful boy, unable to believe he had somehow won the right to claim him, John stroked himself quickly, feeling his own climax rush hot and wild through his veins.

When he came, it was Sherlock’s name on his lips, and a whimper of pleasure at the sight of his lover’s face being streaked with his cum. Sherlock seemed somehow simultaneously debouched, and yet ennobled, by the physical mark of John’s desire for him. His tongue darted out again, lapping at the fluid as it dripped down from his high cheekbones. His eyes opened again, and they were positively glowing with devotion and thanks.

John ran one finger along his lover’s cheek, gathering some of the cooling cum. He chuckled as Sherlock opened his mouth in a silent request, obligingly collecting more and rubbing it over his boyfriend’s lips. Sherlock licked it up eagerly, swallowing with a happy hum. “Thank you, John,” he murmured, eyes fixed on John’s as he continued to to clean him off, then feed it to the dark-haired boy.

When he was finished, John leaned in for a kiss, slow and languid and comfortable, sinking back down with Sherlock curled into his arms. “You’re welcome, luv,” he returned, stroking back the sweaty curls.

They lay quietly in the dark, and John might have drifted back to sleep, but he heard the words, barely breathed against the skin of his throat in that sweet, low voice. “Love you, John Watson.”

The blonde boy smiled, pressing a kiss to his boyfriend’s hair. “And I you, Sherlock Holmes.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Next I am going to officially start the serial killer one. Promise! And then add to the riding crop verse cause that's been frigging forever. 
> 
> Enjoy! Comment please!


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